It ain't all pizzas and cream

UNnuendo: When you don't mean to be lewd, you just sound that way.

Just got my ashes hauled. From my fireplace.

I really AM a pipe-fitter, really.

Of course the carpet matches the curtains. In my apartment.

I'm going down for a fish taco. There's a Mexican restaurant in the lobby.

Time to wax the dolphin. On my new water skis.

I'm going to get my doughnut filled. With delicious strawberry jam.

You may feel a small prick. In your arm. From the needle.

*    *    *   

...feel free to add to the list.

May 26, 2011. The Panhandler

He shows up at the same spot every day

rain, sun, snow

heat or cold.

 

He stays on his feet

sometimes 10 hours at a time.

 

He never complains

never calls out sick.

 

And still

at least once an hour

someone

calls him lazy.

 

Down & Out in Philly

May 18, 2011. A few quick ones.

.

 

OMEN

You swing your legs over the side
of the bed and think
"I can't do it.
I can't."

On the lawn two male cardinals
are fighting like two blood stains
in love with the same
bullet.

You let your head fall slowly back
against the pillow. The day
will have to go on
without you.

.

WAR

Clouds are everywhere
except the sky,

Boiling from the ground
like blood through cold water.

"Are we advancing!?
By whose order?"

A flash of light, and then
a hand, just

A hand
lands at your feet.

Fingers still squeezing,
seeking the trigger.

.

ACCOLADES

I admire a writer
who doesn’t stand around
waiting
for applause.

I’ll holler
when I meet one.

.

May 17, 2011. The Problem with Poetry

"You know the problem with poetry," I said.

"Oh boy," she said, "what?"
 

"It only reaches a human audience."
 

"Who do you wanna reach, dogs?"
 

"No. But people are fickle and stupid."
 

"So," she said, "who do want reading your stuff?"
 

"Someone BETTER than people, extraterrestrials maybe."
 

"You wanna write poetry for ALIENS? Like, Klaatu Barada Nikto?"
 

"Leave the titles to me, just hold the telescope steady."

May 15, 2011. "Little Eddie"

 

Little Eddy was a hustler—the kind of guy who’d borrow ten bucks and five minutes later have you convinced you owed him the money. When I met him, he’d just come out of the hospital after a beating by three guys with no place else to put their anger besides Eddie’s mouth. They broke his jaw twice, and the docs had wired him up so he talked like a bad ventriloquist. “I just need two bucks,” he said through gritted teeth. “For some baby food.” Everything he ate had to be creamed, so baby food was easiest. A few week later, after the wires came out, he was back on the hustle. A truck full of trousers had crashed on the expressway, and two hours later Eddie was on the corner with a shopping cart full of them. “I got all sizes, all styles,” he said. And he did: solids, plaids, cotton, poly, twill, double-knit. Some were a little run-over or had smears of motor oil. But he sold most of them, then got good and drunk. I heard shortly after that the cops grabbed him for B&E at a drug store. Gave him fifteen years. But I’m sure he’ll talk them down to five.

May 13, 2011. Philly Photo Phriday

May 12, 2011. And Once Born We Never Die - from a line by Franz Wright

 

 

And once awake
we never sleep

What a terrible
thought

Our bodies gone
to ash

Our "souls"
or whatever

Candles live
in our tin lanterns

Doomed
as birds

Forever in the jaws
of a fox

But never
eaten.

May 8, 2011. 3 short poems

1.

Twenty years your old truck sat
in that barn, waiting
for a job that would never come.

When the scrapper dragged her out
at last into the sun
she was too old to blush, too tired

To beg mercy.

 

2.

For a moment after death
everything freezes:
wine turns to salt
rivers to slate
even the birds
ambassadors of motion
seem as carnations
pinned to the lapel of the sky.

 

3.

How do you know
when a poem is done?

When its name rises
in the candle smoke.

When its shadow moves
across the walls.

When the sorceress waves
her arms and says,

"To do more
would be perilous."

May 4, 2011. Epic

 

I was at this diner

in Jersey, between

a meat packing plant

and a used car lot.

 

It was lunchtime

and the place was

full. Some kids

from the local

college were seated

at the next table.

No matter what

anyone said, this

one kid kept saying

“epic.”

 

“Ooh that’s

epic.  Epic

joke. Epic fail!”

Epic

Epic Epic.

In ten minutes

the word had lost

all meaning.

 

I kept imagining him

choking on a pickle

his pleas for air

jammed in his throat

his face going blue

as he twitched like a fish

on a pier.

 

That

would’ve been

epic.